of, our own mind. This, surely, is not the worst test of a truly commanding genius. By it let the man, at least, if not his works, be tried. In any one of his romances, for example, there are new thoughts, and feelings, and images, enough to furnish out, we do not say any ordinary poet merely, but a very extraordinary one. There are many scores of minor poems of his-mere sports of his genius-any three or four of which would be quite sufficient to make a Campbell; any dozen of which would go very near to make-not what Coleridge might be-but what Coleridge-the Coleridge of the public(alas! that we should say the word) is. We lament the use which a great monarch has made of some of his jewels; we wonder at the idle and unproductive shapes in which he suffers others to lie; but we do not the less see, that the most neglected corner of his treasury contains enough to make any of ourselves wealthy beyond our dreams.

The novel of Wilhelm MeisTER is one of those lumber-rooms which could be found nowhere but in the palace of a Croesus. The book is now for for the first time before us in an English shape, and we must begin with saying, that Goethe has, for once, no reason to complain of his translator. The version is executed, so far as we have examined it, with perfect fidelity; and, on the whole, in an easy, and even graceful style, very far superior, we must say, to what we have been much accustomed to in English translations from the German. The translator is, we understand, a young gentleman of this city, who now for the first time appears before the public. We congratulate him on his very promising debut; and would fain hope to receive a series of really good translations from his hand. He has evidently a perfect knowledge of German; he already writes English much better than is at all common even at this time; and we know no exercise more likely to produce effects of permanent advantage upon a young mind of intellectual ambition to say nothing of the very favourable reception which we are sure translations of such books so executed cannot fail to receive in the present state of the public feeling.

Madame de Stael has said, in her De L'Allemagne, that the chief value of Wilhelm Meister consists in the ingenuity of the philosophical and critical disquisitions it contains. The hero,

says she, is a third person, whom we feel to be de trop between us and Goethe; whose own sentiments we wish to hear upon the subjects started, without being troubled with Mr Wilhelm. Now, all this might have been very well when Meister first appeared; but since that time five-and-thirty years have passed; and the theories in question have been expounded more fully and more satisfactorily in other shapes, partly by Goethe himself, and partly by his critical disciples. In England, moreover, the Philosophical Romance has never been a favourite; and we venture to say, that in spite of all Madame de Stael's fine eulogy of the disquisitions embodied in Meister, the translator would have done well to retrench a very great proportion of them. Those who are interested in the history of the German theatre, will undoubtedly take the trouble to understand the German tongue; and other readers will infallibly skip the critical dialogues of Meister, however admirably conceived, or however faithfully translated, regarding them as so many impertinent interruptions of the exquisitely interesting story of Mignon; a story which, though meant for a mere episode, chains down the deepest feelings, and asserts itself the true essence of the romance of Meister.

This young Italian girl is the child of a guilty love; her father is a priest, and he discovers, after his guilt has been completed, that he is the brother of the unhappy mother of his child. This discovery makes the priest a wanderer and a madman. The girl, meanwhile, is brought up in Italy, by the side of the sea, until she is ten years old, and she is then kidnapped by some strolling rope-dancers, who teach the unfortunate their miserable art, and carry her with them into Germany, where she is introduced to us as figuring with the rest of the company at a village festival. The cruelty with which her degraded tyrants treat the charming infant, attracts the notice, and rouses the indignation, of Wilhelm Meister, the hero of the book. He is an enthusiastic youth of genius, amiable, modest, but altogether fanciful in his habits of mind, and absurd and irresolute in his conduct and demeanour; who, in pursuit of a vague passion for the stage, has wandered from his respectable family, and is in everything but poverty (for he is not poor) a mere adventurer, when he first sees the beau

tiful little Mignon. He takes the part of the injured and persecuted childhe buys her from the rope-dancers, and adopts her.

It is now that the character of this girl begins to develope itself, in a manner the conception of which attests the full mastery of the genius of Goethe. The innocent ignorance and gaiety of childhood begins to be blended with a more than womanly depth of sentiment and passion. The blood of Italy beats in her unconscious veins -sadness, weariness, uncontrollable melancholy yearnings are the fruit of gratitude and of nature. She serves her preserver and protector like a slave -she loves him like a woman-in timidity, in mystery, in profound ignorance of herself. She springs at once from the threshold of life, to the inmost recess of its passions and its sorrows. The bud expands at once into the full flower-and that very moment all its leaves are for ever scattered. Jealousy, in short, grows up from the same roots with this untold, even unsuspected love-and the moment Mig non hears that Wilhelm has wooed and won another bride, the fragile heart snaps asunder.

Madame de Stael well observes, that it is almost impossible to give any idea of this most pathetic story, by either analysis or extract, and accordingly she attempts neither. It is told by touches so slight-by traits individually so trivial-the intervals in the tale are so great-the whole tragedy is so like a broken, half-told, half-remembered wild dream-that the book unquestionably must be read ere any one can form even the remotest conception of what the story of Mignon is. In many respects, the silent, mysterious, infantine thing, with her dancing tricks, her passions so much beyond her years and her stature, her fairy-like beauty, and her heart-broken love, will remind the English reader of FENELLA.* But although that character may probably have been suggested by this of Mignon, the workmanship is entirely different.We shall endeavour to select a few, and but a few, specimens of Goethe's manner. The reader must be contented to piece the fragments together as he best may.

"They have made their purpose good,

I imagine,' said Wilhelm to Philina, who was leaning over the window beside him. I admire the ingenuity with which they have turned to advantage even the meanest part of their performance: out of the unskilfulness of their children, and exquisiteness of their chief actors, they have made up a whole which at first excited our attention, and then gave us very fine entainment.'

"The people by degrees dispersed, and the square was again become empty, while Philina and Laertes were disputing about the forms and the skill of Narciss and Landrinette, and rallying each other on the subject at great length. Wilhelm noticed the wonderful child standing on the street near some other children at play; he shewed her to Philina, who, in her lively way, immediately called and beckoned to the little one, and, this not succeeding, tripped singing down stairs, and led her up by the hand.

Here is the enigma,' said she, as she brought her to the door. The child stood upon the threshold, as if she meant again to run off; laid the right hand on her breast, the left on her brow, and bowed deeply. Fear nothing, my little dear," her. She viewed him with a doubting said Wilhelm, rising and going towards look, and came a few steps nearer.

What is thy name?' he asked.They call me Mignon.' 'How many years old art thou? No one has counted them.' Who was thy father?' The Great Devil is dead.'

"Well! this is singular enough,' said Philina. They asked her a few more questions; she gave her answers in a kind of broken German, and with a strangely so

lemn manner, every time laying her hands on her breast and brow, and bowing deeply.

Wilhelm could not satisfy himself with looking at her. His eyes and his heart were irresistibly attracted by the mysterious condition of this being. He reckoned her about twelve or thirteen years of age; her body was well formed, only her limbs gave promise of a stronger growth, or else announced a stunted one. Her countenance was not regular, but striking; her brow full of mystery; her nose exseemed too closely shut for one of her age, tremely beautiful; her mouth, although it and though she often threw it to a side, had yet an air of frankness and was very lovely. Her brownish complexion could scarcely be discerned through the paint. This form stamped itself deeply in Wilhelm's soul; he kept looking at her earnestly, and forgot the present scene in the multitude of his reflections. Philina waked him from his half-dream, by holding

answered nothing. Thou art ours now,' cried Laertes; we have bought thee.' For how much ?' inquired the child quite coolly. For a hundred ducats,' said the other; pay them again and thou art free.' Is that very much ?' she asked. O yes! thou must now be a good child.' I will try,' she said.

"From that moment she observed strict

ly what services the waiter had to do for both her friends; and after next day, she would not any more let him enter the room. She persisted in doing everything herself; and accordingly went through her duties, slowly indeed, and sometimes awkwardly, yet completely and with the greatest care.

"She was frequently observed going to a basin of water, and washing her face with such diligence and violence, that she almost wore the skin from her cheeks; till Laertes, by dint of questions and reproofs, learned that she was striving by all means to get the paint from her skin; and that, in her zealous endeavours towards this object, she had mistaken the redness pro. duced by rubbing for the most obdurate dye. They set her right on this point, and she ceased her efforts; after which, having come again to her natural state, she exhibited a fine brown complexion, beautiful, though sparingly intermingled with red.

"The siren charms of Philina, the mysterious presence of the child, produced more impression on our friend than he liked to confess; he passed several days in that strange society, endeavouring to elude self-reproaches by a diligent practice of fencing and dancing-accomplishments which he believed might not again be put within his reach so conveniently."

"In the meantime, Mignon's form and manner of existence was growing more attractive to him every day. In her whole system of proceedings, there was something very singular. She never walked up and down the stairs, but jumped. She would spring along by the railing, and before you were aware, would be sitting quietly above upon the landing. Wilhelm had observed, also, that she had a different sort of salutation for each individual. For himself, it had of late been with her arms crossed upon her breast. Often for the whole day she was mute. At times she answered various questions more freely, yet always strangely; so that you could not determine whether it was caused by shrewd sense, or ignorance of the language; for she spoke in broken German, interlaced with French and Italian. In Wilhelm's service, she was indefatigable, and up before the sun. On the other hand, she vanished early in the evening, went to sleep in a little room upon the bare floor, and could not by any means be induced to take a bed or even a straw sack. He often found her washing

"Mignon had been waiting for him; she lighted him up stairs. On setting down the light, she begged that he would allow her that evening to compliment him with a piece of her art. He would rather have declined this, particularly as he knew not what it was; but he had not the heart to refuse anything this kind creature wished. After a little while she again came in. She carried a little carpet below her arm, which she then spread upon the floor. Wilhelm said she might proceed. She thereupon brought four candles, and placed one upon each corner of the carpet. A little basket of eggs, which she next carried in, made her purpose clearer. Carefully mea suring her steps, she then walked to and fro upon the carpet, spreading out the eggs in certain figures and positions; which done, she called in a man that was waiting in the house, and could play on the violin. He retired with his instrument into a corner; she tied a band about her eyes, gave a signal, and, like a piece of wheel-work set a-going, she began moving the same instant as the music, accompanying her beats and the notes of the tune with the strokes of a pair of castanets.

"Lightly, nimbly, quickly, and with hairsbreadth accuracy, she carried on the dance. She skipped so sharply and surely along between the eggs, and trode so closely down beside them, that you would have thought every instant she must trample one of them in pieces, or kick the rest away in her rapid turns. By no means! She touched no one of them, though winding herself through their mazes with all kinds of steps, wide and narrow, nay even with leaps, and at last half kneeling.

"Constant as the movement of a clock, she ran her course; and the strange music at each repetition of the tune, gave a new impulse to the dance, recommencing and again rushing off as at first. Wilhelm was quite led away by this singular spectacle; he forgot his cares; he followed every movement of the dear little creature, and felt surprised to see how finely her character unfolded itself as she proceeded in the dance.

Rigid, sharp, cold, vehement, and in soft postures, stately rather than attractive; such was the light in which it shewed her. At this moment, he experienced at once all

the emotions he had ever felt for Mignon. He longed to incorporate this forsaken being with his own heart; to take her in his arms, and with a father's love to awake in her the joy of existence.

"The dance being ended, she rolled the eggs together softly with her foot into a lit. tle heap, left none behind, harmed none; then placed herself beside it, taking the bandage from her eyes, and concluding her performance with a little bow.

"Wilhelm thanked her for having executed, so prettily and unexpectedly, a dance he had long wished to see. He patted her; was sorry she had tired herself so much. He promised her a new suit of clothes; to which she vehemently replied: Thy colour!' This, too, he promised her, though not well knowing what she meant by it. She then lifted up the eggs, took the carpet below her arm, asked if he wanted anything farther, and skipped out at the door.

"It will not surprise us, therefore, that, in considering his situation, and labouring to extricate himself, he fell into the greatest perplexity. It was not enough, that, by his friendship for Laertes, his attachment to Philina, his concern for Mignon, he had been detained longer than was proper in a place and a society where he could cherish his darling inclination, content his wishes as it were by stealth, and without proposing any object, again pursue his early dreams. These ties he believed himself possessed of force enough to break asunder: had there been nothing more to hold him, he could have gone at once. But, only a few moments ago, he had entered into money-transactions with Melina; he had seen that mysterious old man, the enigma of whose history he longed with unspeakable desire to clear. Yet of this too, after much balancing of reasons, he at length determined, or thought he had determined, that it should not keep him back. I must go,' he exclaimed;

I will go.' He threw himself into a chair, and felt greatly moved. Mignon came in and asked, Whether she might help to undress him? Her manner was still and shy; it had grieved her deeply to be so abruptly dismissed by him before.

"Nothing is more touching than the first disclosure of a love which has been nursed in silence, of a faith grown strong in secret, and which at last comes forth in the hour of need, and reveals itself to him who formerly has reckoned it of small account. The bud, which had been closed so long and firmly, was now ripe to burst its swathings, and Wilhelm's heart could never have been readier to welcome the impressions of affliction.

"She stood before him, and noticed his disquietude. Master!" she cried, if thou art unhappy, what will become of Mignon ? Dear little creature,' said he, taking her hands, thou too art part of VOL. XV.

my anxieties. I must go. She looked at his eyes, glistening with restrained tears; and knelt down with vehemence before him. He kept her hands; she laid her head upon his knees, and remained quite still. He played with her hair, patted her, and spoke kindly to her. She continued motionless for a considerable time. At last he felt a sort of palpitating movement in her, which began very softly, and then by degrees with increasing violence diffused itself over all her frame. What ails thee, Mignon ?" cried he; what ails thee ?" She raised up her little head, looked at him, and all at once laid her hand upon her heart, with the countenance of one repressing the utterance of pain. He raised her up, and she fell upon his breast; he pressed her towards him, and kissed her. She replied not by any pressure of the hand, by any motion whatever. She held firmly against her heart; and all at once gave a cry, which was accompanied by spasmodic movements of the body. She started up, and immediately fell down before him, as if broken in every joint. It was an excruciating moment! My child!' cried he, raising her up, and clasping her fast; My child, what ails thee? The palpitations continued, spreading from the heart over all the lax and powerless limbs; she was merely hanging in his arms. All at once she again became quite stiff, like one enduring the sharpest corporeal agony; and soon with a new vehemence all her frame once more became alive; and she threw herself about his neck, like a bent spring that is closing; while in her soul, as it were, a strong rent took place, and at the same moment a stream of tears flowed from her shut eyes into his bosom. He held her fast. She wept, and no tongue can express the force of these tears. Her long hair had loosened, and was hanging down before her; it seemed as if her whole being was melting incessantly into a brook of tears. Her rigid limbs were again become relaxed; her inmost soul was pouring itself forth; in the wild confusion of the moment. Wilhelm was afraid she would dissolve in his arms, and-leave nothing there for him to grasp. He held her fast. er and faster. My child!' cried he, my child! Thou art indeed mine, if that word can comfort thee. Thou art mine! I will keep thee, I will never forsake thee! Her tears continued flowing. At last she raised herself; a faint gladness shone upon her face. My father!' cried she, Thou wilt not forsake me? Wilt be my father? I am thy child!

"Softly, at this moment, the harp began to sound before the door; the old man brought his most affecting songs as an evening offering to our friend, who, holding his child ever faster in his arms, enjoyed the most pure and undescribable felicity."

"Amid the pleasures of the entertain4 M